


Taking His Measure

by Persian Slipper (Luthe)



Category: Criminal Minds, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, References to Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthe/pseuds/Persian%20Slipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tries to size up Reid. Reid sizes Sherlock up right back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking His Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, unbrit-picked, written for the kinkmeme.

The strange detective waited until Reid had gone to the coffee machine alone before he cornered him. _Holmes, that's his name_ , Reid thought, _and his friend is Watson_. Watson was deep in conversation with Rossi aboutthe difficulties of writing up cases for public consumption.

Reid looked up from pouring sugar in his coffee as Holmes approached. They were about the same height, so it was easy for Reid to meet Holmes's eye. _Bet that doesn't happen often._

"So, what was your drug of choice?" Holmes asked, sounding for all the world like he was asking about the weather. Reid contained his start, but it was a near thing. He knew the involuntary widening of his eyes hadn't gone unnoticed. 

"What makes you think there was one?" It has been obvious from the first Holmes liked to show off his abilities. They were what made him different, made him special. They were both his entry into society and his way of standing out from it, letting him interact while still feeling superior. Reid remembered what it was like to be that insecure and awkward around other people. That didn't mean he was going to let Holmes goad him into anger or surprise. That would only let him get away with feeling superior. If he wanted the man to take him seriously, he had to be willing to push back.

Holmes's shoulders slumped slightly and he raised his eyes heavenward as if he were asking God to give him the strength to deal with idiots. "The difference between the skin tone of your hands and your wrists indicates you habitually wear long sleeves, even in the summer. When you raised your arm to write on the white board, your sleeve slipped down enough to reveal track marks on your wrist. They were old, however, so you've been off the drugs for a number of years. If the marks had been from medicinal injections, you would feel no need to cover them."

Holmes paused, eyes hooded as he considered Reid. "Your colleagues know about the drug use and yet you are still a member of law-enforcement, meaning they turned a blind eye to it. You became addicted as part of a case, then, probably involutarily. Agent- Jareau, was it?- still feels some guilt over this. Agent Hotchner believes you've overcome it, but still tests you on occasion. And Agent Morgan has complete faith in you, even though you still doubt yourself sometimes."

Reid had to admit he was a little impressed, even though he knew how Holmes had figured it all out. During the briefing, Hotch had delibrately left the portions of the profile relating to the unsub's drug use to Reid, knowing it made Reid a little uncomfortable to talk about. Hotch had watched his face the whole time, breaking the no-profiling rule a little, while Morgan had just stared at him calmly. JJ, he knew, always turned her face away a little when Reid had to talk about narcotics.

"Dilaudud," Reid admitted, a suspicion forming at the back of his mind. "I was abducted during a case and the unsub shot me up." Reid could still remember the terror he felt when he had seen the needle in Hankel's hand, and then the rush, the rush, _the rush_. "What was yours?"

Holmes straightened a little and there was a delighted gleam in his eye. "Oh, very good," he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Cocaine. Seven percent solution. Intravenous. But you knew that already."

Time for a shot in the dark. "So why'd you quit?" Reid narrowed his eyes. "Or have you quit?"

Holmes's pale grey eyes suddenly went steel. "The work is more important. Lestrade-" Holmes gestured to the silver-haired detective who had called the BAU in- "informed me that I had to choose between the drugs and getting called in to solve cases for him. Not wanting to be stuck solving petty little adultery scandals forever, I quit."

There was more to it than that. Reid could tell. Holmes probably had a stash somewhere, just in case. He tried to imagine what it was like when Holmes got bored, that quicksilver mind deprived of something to do. From the way Holmes had said "petty little adultery cases," he could tell the other man always needed something to fix his attention. Reid had loved the way the Dilaudud made him stop thinking, or at least stop caring to think, but he suspected Holmes loved cocaine because it made him _start_ thinking again.

Reid decided to switch gears. Two could play at the deduction game, even if Reid's deductions were about behavior, not physical clues. "How far up the autism spectrum are you? Asperger's?"

Holmes drew back, a frown on his face. "I am a narcissistic sociopath," he said, his voice full of affonted pride.

Now it was Reid's turn to roll his eyes. "If you were, you'd be sneaking behind Lestrade's back to keep doing cocaine. You wouldn't be bringing Dr. Watson to crime scenes with you or asking for his opinion of things. Or maybe you would, so he could write about you in his blog and make you more famous. But you hate his blog and don't want to be famous, at least not in the press. You consider your work more important than everything else, even yourself. You either stare people in the eye for too long or avoid their gaze all together, choosing to stare at the details of their clothes. You want approval, but not because it feeds your ego. If that were the case, that woman detective calling you a freak wouldn't bother you and you'd take Dr. Watson's praise as your just due, not as a pleasant surprise." Reid paused. "You wouldn't work with the police." A smile. "Should I go on?"

There was a mutinous look in Holmes's eye. "I have a diagnosis."

Reid wasn't backing down. "And it's wrong."

Holmes waved his hand violently, as if shaking off a particularly annoying insect. "Psychology is useless anyway. All guesswork and assumptions. Not facts."

Reid raised an eyebrow. "You rely on guesswork and assumptions."

"Nonsense. I rely on facts and probabilities."

"Assumptions. You assume the probabilities are right. How many times have you been wrong?"

"At least once." Dr. Watson broke into the conversation, prompting Holmes's look to darken even further. "He assumed my sister's nickname of 'Harry' was short for 'Harold,' not 'Harriet'."

"How I wish you would forget that." Holmes had shrunk into himself slightly and he almost seemed to be pouting.

"Never," Watson said with a smile. "Why don't we go look at those crime scene photos the Americans brought us and leave Dr. Reid to drink his coffee in peace?"

Reid knew a cue when he heard one. "It was nice talking to you, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure you'll be an interesting man to work with."

Holmes gave Reid a calculating look. "I suppose I could say the same for you."

"He means 'good-bye'," Watson said, taking Holmes's arm gently. Then they were gone, disappering back into the conference room Lestrade had reserved for the BAU.

 _He really needs to meet Garcia_ , Reid thought, and smiled into his coffee cup.


End file.
